Kilmeny of the Orchard | Page 9

was covered with thick, silky, black curls, and the hand
that hung down by the side of the wagon was unusually long and
slender. His face was richly, though somewhat heavily featured, olive
tinted, save for the cheeks, which had a dusky crimson bloom. His
mouth was as red and beguiling as a girl's, and his eyes were large, bold
and black. All in all, he was a strikingly handsome fellow; but the
expression of his face was sullen, and he somehow gave Eric the
impression of a sinuous, feline creature basking in lazy grace, but ever
ready for an unexpected spring.
The other occupant of the wagon was a man between sixty-five and
seventy, with iron-gray hair, a long, full, gray beard, a harsh-featured
face, and deep-set hazel eyes under bushy, bristling brows. He was
evidently tall, with a spare, ungainly figure, and stooping shoulders.
His mouth was close-lipped and relentless, and did not look as if it had
ever smiled. Indeed, the idea of smiling could not be connected with
this man--it was utterly incongruous. Yet there was nothing repellent
about his face; and there was something in it that compelled Eric's
attention.
He rather prided himself on being a student of physiognomy, and he

felt quite sure that this man was no ordinary Lindsay farmer of the
genial, garrulous type with which he was familiar.
Long after the old wagon, with its oddly assorted pair, had gone
lumbering up the hill, Eric found himself thinking of the stern, heavy
browed man and the black-eyed, red-lipped boy.



CHAPTER IV
. A TEA TABLE CONVERSATION
The Williamson place, where Eric boarded, was on the crest of the
succeeding hill. He liked it as well as Larry West had prophesied that
he would. The Williamsons, as well as the rest of the Lindsay people,
took it for granted that he was a poor college student working his way
through as Larry West had been doing. Eric did not disturb this belief,
although he said nothing to contribute to it.
The Williamsons were at tea in the kitchen when Eric went in. Mrs.
Williamson was the "saint in spectacles and calico" which Larry West
had termed her. Eric liked her greatly. She was a slight, gray-haired
woman, with a thin, sweet, high-bred face, deeply lined with the
records of outlived pain. She talked little as a rule; but, in the pungent
country phrase she never spoke but she said something. The one thing
that constantly puzzled Eric was how such a woman ever came to
marry Robert Williamson.
She smiled in a motherly fashion at Eric, as he hung his hat on the
white-washed wall and took his place at the table. Outside of the
window behind him was a birch grove which, in the westering sun, was
a tremulous splendour, with a sea of undergrowth wavered into golden
billows by every passing wind.
Old Robert Williamson sat opposite him, on a bench. He was a small,
lean old man, half lost in loose clothes that seemed far too large for him.
When he spoke his voice was as thin and squeaky as he appeared to be
himself.
The other end of the bench was occupied by Timothy, sleek and

complacent, with a snowy breast and white paws. After old Robert had
taken a mouthful of anything he gave a piece to Timothy, who ate it
daintily and purred resonant gratitude.
"You see we're busy waiting for you, Master," said old Robert. "You're
late this evening. Keep any of the youngsters in? That's a foolish was of
punishing them, as hard on yourself as on them. One teacher we had
four years ago used to lock them in and go home. Then he'd go back in
an hour and let them out--if they were there. They weren't always. Tom
Ferguson kicked the panels out of the old door once and got out that
way. We put a new door of double plank in that they couldn't kick out."
"I stayed in the schoolroom to do some work," said Eric briefly.
"Well, you've missed Alexander Tracy. He was here to find out if you
could play checkers, and, when I told him you could, he left word for
you to go up and have a game some evening soon. Don't beat him too
often, even if you can. You'll need to stand in with him, I tell you,
Master, for he's got a son that may brew trouble for you when he starts
in to go to school. Seth Tracy's a young imp, and he'd far sooner be in
mischief than eat. He tries to run on every new teacher and he's run two
clean out of the school. But he met his match in Mr. West. William
Tracy's boys now--you